Fantasy.

There are times, when you finish a good book, when you see the credits roll past of some new film, a play… After you’ve been taken away from the world for a while, there are times that there exist unbelievable shocks of clarity.

I’m not naïve, bordering on destructively cynical. I do not believe that there are truly good people in this world anymore, and haven’t in a long time. A good friend told me, earlier this month, that when you are presented with two conflicting views, one truth and one fiction, you can always trust the one with nothing to gain from lying, his point being that everyone has a price. Everyone wants to gain, either in this world or their next. The world is not full of Hollywood’s white and black hats; the world is full of its complicated bad guys.

But these writers can imagine the good people, the white hats. They can take you away from your world for a spell and introduce you to the beauty you should see in life but never do; they can create in their minds what should be, perfection too fragile for life. I don’t cry in real life when people die. I don’t cry from pain, and I don’t cry from personal misfortune. But I cry when I have to give up these imaginary people. I cry when the ideals fade.